Thorin raised his axe, though Apollo could see the doubt in the dwarf's eyes. They had seen what those claws could do to solid wood, steel would fare no better. Renna clutched her knife with white knuckles, knowing it would be useless against such a foe.
Mira had pressed herself against Tomas, both their faces pale with terror as they watched their protection crumble.
The bow sang in Apollo's hands, demanding action.
A strange calm settled over him as he stepped forward, toward the failing barrier rather than away from it. The gold in his veins warmed, flowing more freely than it had since his exile began. For the first time since finding the weapon, he reached for the quiver at his hip with purpose rather than curiosity.
